Just Like Virginia Woolf
by CheetahLiv
Summary: I once tried to kill myself...read a lot of Sylvia Plath and Virginia Woolf...swam out to the middle of the lake, but couldn’t get myself to go under..." Oneshot. COMPLETE. Rating for attempted suicide and some angst. Elliot and Cox fic.


**AN: Hello again! Here I am again with another Scrubs fic. This time it's not a JDox (I know, gasp!) but instead focuses on two of my favorite characters and my second favorite ship in the series. By the way, the flashback (in italics) is actually from the episode My Fishbowl. That's kinda where the inspiration for this came from. Anyway, enough rambling. Enjoy!**

**Disc.: I do not own Scrubs. Also, feedback is love.**

He doesn't know what has drawn him here. Some unconscious force was urging him onward, to the lake in the middle of City Park. He twines his fingers in his red hair and contemplates why he had followed this blind urge.

He's used to trusting his instincts. It's this trait that has saved many of his patients' lives, and quite frankly, the reason he was the best damn doctor in the city. But why was he _here_, of all places? And on his only break in a 24 hour shift?

Then he sees her. A blonde waif, she drifts effortlessly towards the edge of the lake. Her tall, thin frame is draped in a white, flowing dress. He's leaning against a tree, perhaps 100 yards from the lake, but even from this distance he can tell she has a look of utter calm on her face, as though she is doing nothing out of the ordinary. Then she steps in.

Perplexed, he watches as she wades deeper and deeper towards the center of the lake. Her dress floats on top of the water behind her, like a mockery of a wedding train. Soon, the water is up to her waist. But she does not stop. He debates what to do. Does he call out, startle her out of her reverie? Or does he wait to see what she's intending to do?

While he has been deliberating, she has moved even further. Now the water line is at her pale throat. She begins an easy-paced swim out towards the middle of the lake. Still the white garment swirls in the murky water, like a white flag of surrender. And then it clicks.

_A memory from long ago…"I once tried to kill myself…read a lot of Sylvia Plath and Virginia Woolf…swam out to the middle of the lake, but couldn't get myself to go under…"_

He calls out, "Wait! Don't do this!" but it's too late. She has gone under, water closing over the top of her blonde head. He sees a stream of bubbles rising to the surface, and realizes that she's not even going to try to hold her breath. That's when he starts to run.

His feet propel him forward at a desperate pace. Even as his body is hurtling towards the lake, a small voice in the back of his mind is warning him, _You won't make it in time. She's on the other side of the lake, and you've never been that fast of a swimmer. You won't get to her in time._ But he ignores that voice and keeps on running.

He reaches the edge of the lake, and without breaking his stride, leaps into the water, sneakers and all. He's vaguely aware of the odd looks he's getting from the few passers-by, but he's more aware of the fact that the bubbles have stopped rising to the surface. As the water level splashes above his waist, he realizes with a start that he's still wearing his white lab coat. But instead of floating gently on the surface of the water as he swims, the fabric clings to his muscled chest, heaving from the exertion.

He's reached her now. Without hesitation, he dives. He opens his eyes underwater, and spots her about ten feet or so below him. Her white dress, now entirely soaked, drifts around her near the bottom, and her blonde hair floats eerily, swirling around her head as though she were a mermaid. But the look on her face is what scares him the most. It still is calm—_deathly calm_, the voice in his head provides—but there are no air bubbles streaming out of her nose or mouth.

He swims to the bottom of the lake and takes hold of her. He wraps an arm securely around her waist, then pushes off of the mushy bottom and begins the struggle to the surface. His sodden clothes are suddenly more than an annoyance, they are a hindrance, and he ceases his kicking and wastes a few precious seconds toeing off his sneakers. With those out of the way, the going is easier, and with his precious cargo, he breaks the surface rapidly.

He coughs and splutters for air, and finds it harder to swim now that this girl is somewhat out of the water. He concentrates on swimming towards the shore while simultaneously struggling to keep her head above water. It seems to take a lifetime to reach the shore, when in reality only a few seconds have passed. But even a few seconds now could mean the difference between life and death for her.

He swims until his feet touch the bottom. Then he cradles the blonde in his arms and begins striding towards the shore. It is slow going, as attempting to run in chest-deep water always is, but he is strong, and very quickly he is on the beach and laying her down.

"Somebody call 911!" he yells, then leans down, his ear next to her lips to check for breaths. None. "Starting CPR," he announces to no one in particular, then begins the chest compressions. After 30, he lowers his lips to hers and pushes two breaths into her unresponsive lungs. There is no reaction. 30 compressions, two more breaths. Still nothing.

He begins another set of compressions and calls over his shoulder to the small crowd that has formed, "Where the hell are those paramedics?!" Even as he shouts it, he hears a small sound that fills him with hope; a cough.

His piercing eyes drop to her face. Her blue lips are moving, her chest heaving with the effort to cough up the water she had inhaled. He rolls her onto her side and supports her back as her body is wracked with spasms to expel the fluid from her lungs. Once it appears as though she has coughed up as much water as she can, he gently lowers her back to the ground and anxiously searches her face.

Her eyelids flutter open. Their eyes meet and lock. Blue irises conflict: hers are scared and confused, while his are angry and…perhaps compassionate. She opens her mouth to speak, and he leans forward to better hear her (certainly her voice will be raspy from all the coughing). Her breath tickles his ear, and he can hardly make out what she's trying to say before the paramedics arrive at last. They push him out of the way, and he, for once, moves willingly.

He watches as they check her vitals, make sure she's stable enough to move, and then strap her to a gurney and load her up into the back of the ambulance. A paramedic is in his face, peppering him with questions and asking him to accompany them to the hospital, but he is too stunned by what she has said to comprehend anything that is going on around him.

"You're welcome, Elliot," he whispers in response, knowing full well that she is out of earshot, then turns to the paramedic and begins to answer his questions.

**Please review!**


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